Sibling Duty
by icecreamlova
Summary: In which the Circle continue the time-honored sibling tradition of threatening each others' suitors. Or something like that.


_Originally written for SMACKDOWN at Fief Goldenlake._

* * *

><p><strong>Sibling Duty<br>**_By icecreamlova_

- : -

**i. Morning Conversation:** _in which Sandry, Tris and Daja lay down some house rules for Briar's new girl_

Candice backed out of Briar's bedroom, giggling, blowing a kiss at the man reclining lazily in the early morning sunlight.

Her excellent mood lasted approximately one minute: the time it took for her journey to the dining room, plus thirty seconds to make sure her gown had been properly laced up.

Three women waited at the breakfast table; the foster sisters Briar Moss, the local gossips, and every urchin and their cousin had mentioned, no doubt. (They'd seemed to find her dalliance with Briar amusing, and she'd been on the receiving end of vaguely pitying smiles on the way to the house.)

The siblings seemed nice enough, though, despite her cautious attitude. The redhead (Mistress Chandler, or "Just Tris,") offered her tea, head tilted as though listening to something beyond hearing - more mage-arcadia, no doubt. Lady Sandrilene and the Trader spoke quietly, drawing Candice seamlessly into the conversation, until she contributed just as much as Tris did.

But when Candice's cup of tea had been emptied, refilled, and emptied again, a silent agreement seemed to pass between the three. The strangest smile touched Sandry's lips; it took a moment for Candice to realize she'd seen its mirror image on Briar's face, when he'd threatened off one of her unwanted suitors.

"Some house rules," Sandry said, her smile revealing the slightest glimpse of teeth. "No leaving your dress on the dining table, please. I might mistake it for usable fabric and the next thing you know, it's part of a quilt donated to Urda's House."

Candice blinked, and nodded, more surprised than anything else. That seemed reasonable... she, along with ever other denizen of Summersea, had heard of the powerful magical workings in the house.

"Keep your hands off the silver, gold, iron, tin," the Trader, Daja, told her firmly. As Candice opened her mouth to protest, Daja assured her, "I don't mean it that way. Things tend to... react... to unfamiliar presences in the house."

To prove her point, the metal clinging to Daja's hand glittered in morning light as she raised it, like liquid brass. The fork she touched glowed a sudden, red hot.

As quickly as she could without being obvious about it, Candice snatched her hand off the spoon she'd been using to stir her tea with.

She turned to look at Tris, who had been silent so far - and had to fight to keep her jaw from dropping. Peeking out from behind the mage's tight braids was a... a... it looked like a dragon, if such creatures existed outside of fairytales for kids. And it was... batting at a spark of lightning jumping between Tris's fingers.

"Oh?" Tris said absently. "I have nothing to add." Behind her spectacles was a hint of lightning that promised retribution if she were angered.

There was a commotion at the stairs, and Candice turned to see Briar framed by the dining room door, taking in the sight warily.

"It was nice meeting you," Sandry said, calmly and politely. "I trust you'll take this conversation to heart."

- : -

**ii. Upon Reflection**: _in which Sandry, Briar and Daja ponder Tris's young man_

Upon reflection, Daja doesn't think he's too bad. He's easy-going enough, unless you challenge his views on weather formations, in which case you can expect a rather powerful and fiery argument to ensue. He seems unfazed when she casually mentions that she could make his sword fly out of his grasp, if she were angry - if, say, she sees Tris being stubborn and Not Crying.

Upon reflection, Sandry rather likes him. He's actually... 'pretty' might be the right word. Not handsome, or dashing, but... pretty, in an understated way, and perfectly content to spend his afternoon pouring over books with Tris. And he had seems offended when she sweetly informs him that his breeches and shirt are of fine make, but stand no chance against an unhappy thread-mage. (She had firmly shut Tris out of her head at this point.) He blusters; she ends the conversation.

Upon reflection, Briar is pleased he did not follow that man back home after all and warn him, at knife-point, to be nice to Tris.

He knows that this is because Tris's suitor keeps flinching ever-so-slightly when Briar meets the room, as though waiting for another threat to come.

(Sandry giggles, and Briar grins at her.)

- : -

**iii. The Peanut Gallery**: _in which Daja's young lady is given some advice_

_She seems nice,_ Sandry announced.

_Sandry-_

_Has a head on her shoulders,_ Tris added.

_Tris-_

_You should get back to your lunch,_ Briar told Daja through their link. _She might think you're not paying attention._

There was a flare of annoyance on the other end. Daja, nevertheless, closed her mind off from her siblings' mutterings, and hid her blush as the other woman - several years older than Daja - ran her fingers up Daja's arm.

Unfortunately, this only encouraged the other three to make their conversation verbal, when Daja had to go and take care of a piece in her forge.

"Daja's been hurt before," she heard, drifting in from the other room.

She slowed, unable to quell her curiosity, even as she checked whether her Living Metal creation had lost their shape in any way.

"It was a very serious relationship." That was Briar, and to Daja's astonishment, he actually sounded somber.

"DON'T do anything if you're unsure," that was Sandry again. "Or we'll know about it."

Daja's friend's reply was too quiet to be heard. Nevertheless, Daja resolved to shake it out of them once she found the opportunity - right after she told them, in no uncertain terms, to stop sticking their noses into her business.

- : -

**iv. Conditions Apply**: _so you want to court Sandrilene fa Toren? Well, there are a few things you need to know first_

Sandry stared curiously at the young man bowing before her, brushing his lips lightly over the back of her hand. They'd been introduced a few months ago, but it was only recently that he'd become comfortable enough to break protocol and ask her for her first dance. The pit of her stomach fluttered, and cold air rushed through her teeth. Oh. She hadn't felt like this since Namorn, and she wasn't sure whether to back away from disaster or embrace a possible attraction.

At once, she felt a sort of shifting in her head, and a moment later, Briar sidled up to stand by her side, the girl he had been dancing with nowhere to be seen. His eyes locked briefly with the nobleman's. Something passed between them that Briar wouldn't let her see, before they initiated a halting conversation - at least, until Sandry managed to elbow Briar away.

The moment Briar left on the arm of another pretty girl, Daja somehow approached from the other side of the ballroom. Sandry stood back, only occasionally entering the conversation; Daja was charming, fluent and disarming. Until Daja wrapped an arm around her shoulders, hugged her, and said, "We'll be seeing each other very often."

Tris didn't even bother to approach. The young nobleman was smiling at Sandry one moment, and in the next, was looking beyond her, frozen. Sandry felt the weather-mage's presence behind her, and when she turned around - sure enough, Tris was boring a hole into the man's skull.

_'What are you doing?'_ she demanded.

She received nothing more than a sense of smugness from all three siblings.

Meanwhile, her dance partner had drawn her close. He asked, quietly, "Will I be courting them as well as you?"

Sandry nearly stopped on the dance floor; years of habit saved her, and she turned it into a smooth spin. It was then that she understood why her siblings approached only now, months into her relationship.

_'If he wants you,' _Briar finally explained, after she'd worked it out, _'he has to put up with us too.'_

"Yes," Sandry said plainly. She smiled at him. "Do you accept the challenge?" And knew his answer would either prevent their future from taking shape, or open the door to it.

- : -

**Well?**


End file.
